Today

This is not a day to be out.

There are demons afloat
I do not wish to confront.

They are a frightful lot
even when they are not.

So, I will remain hidden since
hidden is a prudent place for me

Today.

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I Am

I am an old man.
A wandering alien
In an unfamiliar world.

A world where
Only scattered artifacts
Serve as my reminders.

I am an old man.
A wisp of a shadow passing
Over fresh ground.

I am still me,
I whisper.

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A Circle

Years ago, a child was born
And soon transformed into

A warrior whose sword dulled
A teacher whose knowledge dried
A father whose children aged
A husband whose wife died

And now, the child reappears
And quietly waits his return

To what he was
Before he was born.

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Poetry Lives

On this grey October morning,
Beethoven, rain, and a pen.

Nothing more is needed to bring contentment
To the cloistered world of the Old Hermit.

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The Devils Among Us

The music slaps against my window pane
And my lawn browns in the autumn rain
And today is not my birthday.

Then Seers take these simultaneous events
And chant them into cause and effect
And each predicts a unique Apocalypse

And leads us, the Innocents, into his special Hell.

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A Simple Answer

The Old Man wakes to find
Death on two feet wearing fluffy slippers
With bunny faces and glass eyes.

“I know why you are here
But why the fuzzy footwear? ”

“There are reasons.
Some funny, some not,
But truth be told
My feet are cold.”

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Curious

We live in curious times
Which seem different than the times before.

What I am saying is
We really do not know
Even though some claim to know.

So, can they explain why
The killing of untold numbers of people
Is the only suitable solution?

But first, can they explain the problem
Or even recognize the problem requiring this solution?

Perhaps the times are not so curious after all.

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Go For It

Every once in a while,
I work to reinvent myself.

I am not displeased with me
but I do get bored.

So, I work to reinvent myself.

The clerk at the cash register
likes my new hat.

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The Traveler

His back is bent by a load he no longer carries and will never carry again.

He was not without companions. Most stayed for a while then drifted away. The new appeared from time to time only to disappear (as they will).

He gathered mystic fables for direction and comfort but as they proved empty, he discarded them and moved on.

Always moving. On and on, immersed in the peace of his solitary journey.

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The Dog And The Door

She does not believe the door exists
even though I open it and
show her the other side

and she reluctantly passes through
but she knows she is on the outside

only because she is
and not because of the door

and she is certain she cannot come back in
because she does not believe the door exists.

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